The Maltese Synth
by FightingKentuckian
Summary: In the style of a Noir Film, Nick Valentine takes a case from a mysterious woman that sends him into the seedy underbelly of the Commonwealth's mafias and cults. Years before the Sole Survivor got thawed out see how Diamond City's most effective detective heated up the Commonwealth.
1. On a Rainy Night

She breezed into my office like the cold wind that was washing across Diamond City that rainy night. She walked across my dim office in that shimmering black dress like she owned the place, finding a seat on the other side of my desk as I was closing up for the night. I could feel those eyes piercing right through my synthetic skin, and she crossed those legs that seemed to go on for miles. I leaned back in my chair, acknowledging her presence.

"What can I help you with, darling?" I asked as I tipped the brim of my hat up.

"I heard you solve problems Mr. Valentine…" her voice was the definition of sultry.

"Please, call me Nick."

"Well, Nick. I've got a problem I'd like you to fix." She produced a pack of cigarettes before continuing. She pulled a slender smoke from the pack and offered me one, I obliged. "Do you have a light?" she asked in that mesmerizing voice, brushing that golden hair off her face. After fumbling through my tattered trench coat's numerous pockets I produced an old flip lighter. "Someone dear to me was killed." Her ruby red lips took a puff on the cigarette, "I want you to find out who did it."

"Alright, I'm going to need more details than that if you want my help. Perhaps some names to start?" my voice was smooth yet assertive.

"You can call me Charlotte, Charlotte Kingsman. The victim was my brother, Charlie…"

"Seems your mother wasn't too inventive." She only rolled her eyes as she tapped her cigarette over an ashtray,

"He was found dead south of Goodneighbor. Bullet through the chest." Not the most original way someone could get offed in the Commonwealth.

"Misses, sounds like your brother just ran into the wrong group of Gunners. You don't even have to pay me for that guess."

"I know he wasn't ambushed by raiders or bandits, Nicky."

"Alright," my robotic fingers relieved the imaginary stress in my mechanical temple, "Did your brother have any enemies?"

"Don't we all." Smoke billowed from her mouth with that statement and disappeared into the darkness surrounding my desk.

"That doesn't answer my question, Ms. Charlotte." I didn't care to wax philosophy with this vixen at 11 o'clock at night.

"It happened near Goodneighbor. You know as well as I do, it's a mob town. I think you know where to start snooping, detective." She said the line with such casual assurance. I watched her face as I tapped my fingers together. Apparently I took too long as she snubbed out the smoke and started to rise, "Let me know what you find out, Nicky." There was that sultry voice again.

"I never said I'd take the case." I reminded her as she walked towards the door. She didn't turn around as she delivered this line,

"Of course you will… Mr. Valentine." As she sauntered to the door it wasn't hard for those curves to inspire some human feelings in this 'robot'. It was after she had returned to the rain outside I had noticed a small purse she left on the chair. Throwing down my barely smoked cigarette, I got up and took the purse in my 'human' hand. Opening it up revealed a hefty store of caps, looks like I was investigating this murder, in the morning.

The sun had risen over the Commonwealth, but it was hidden behind the clouds. The rainstorm from last night never let up it seems. Moving across the Commonwealth will be a chore slopping through the mud, but I had to make it out to Goodneighbor. Diamond City's market was pretty empty thanks to the inclement weather. Myrna was at her storefront peddling her usual junk.

"Any oil cans for sale today Myrna?" I already knew the answer.

"I'm not selling you anything, synth." She replied with a paranoid sneer.

"Wouldn't have it any other way." I accompanied that line with a chuckle. No matter how much I did for the folks of Diamond City, a synth was still a synth to Crazy Myrna.

Outside the gate, Boston's streets seemed quiet. You could see the fires of Super Mutant camps burning up in the high stories of the ruined edifices that populate downtown Boston, and the occasional Ghoul would let out a deathly hiss off in the distance. The rain made sure I was the only fool walking the roads today. I was left to only the sound of it landing on the pavement, its ping on the metal buildings, and the sound it makes when it drips off the brim of this old fedora. Off to my right was a Slick Grick's Deli sandwich shop I could cut through. The old Nick used to find himself in one of these chain joints every day for lunch. Course nowadays, the counter was only serving dust to barstools that had rusted away years ago. As I made it through the serving area the memories come flooding back,

"I'm telling you Phil. John may be close to catching that "Phantom of the Fens". Sounds like there's something in the sewers down there."

"Eh, you keep saying that Nicky, but I'll tell you what I told Johnny. It's an urban legend folks made to explain missing persons. Whatever though, how are things with you and Jennifer?" I reached for the turkey club sandwich only to be brought back to reality by a mole rat trying to make a meal out of my leg. I gave it a swift kick, knocking it into the swinging door leading to the kitchen. It tried to scare me with a growl. Luckily, the .44 snubnose I dug out of my coat pocket doesn't get frightened by noisy rats. If any wanderer happened into that joint they'd have some fresh meat waiting for them.


	2. No Better Neighbors

The red lights of Scollay Square were twinkling in the rain that was misting across the town. Goodneighbor was the kind of place you kept your hat pulled down low and your hands in your pocket. It was the concentrated collection of wanna-be mobsters, chem addicts, and low life thieves. It wasn't two minutes after I stepped through the gate that one of Vic's errand boys, Whitey Johnson, made me.

"What you doing here, dick?" the thug's tone wasn't as friendly as I'd have preferred.

"Came to check up on my favorite peon." This got a fulfilling sneer out of Johnson, "Where's your boss, Whitey? I don't have time to waste."

"Maybe he doesn't want to see no robot playing cop today? The boss doesn't have any time to waste either." Whitey wasn't playing nice today.

"What's got Vic so occupied? New call girl up at the Hotel Rexford?" I didn't have to play nice either, "Now listen, Whitey. I'd rather not walk around all his usual haunts hunting for him, and I don't think Vic would like to know his 'greeter' isn't being friendly to repeat customers." That got him. I could see him quickly imagining what Vic would do to him. He finally provided the information I wanted in a defeated tone.

"He's over at the Third Rail. But, ay, don't tell him I told you where he was. Alright?"

I gave a pat on the shoulder of his cheap suit and gave him a smile,  
"Course not." He slinked back onto a wet park bench as I made my way to Goodneighbor's premier bar, not to mention, it's only bar.

There was that familiar smell of cigarette smoke and cheap booze hovering throughout the Third Rail. Never saw this place empty, folks always had troubles needing drowned. I walk past the main bar lit up in colorful yet dim lights, the kingpin of Goodneighbor would be held up in the VIP section.

"Hey, hey." Some desperate voice cut through the smoky bar, "You that detective that helps people right?" the originator of the question was just as desperate looking, scraggly beard, torn clothes, and all. Simple nod was all he got from me in reply. "I need help real bad. I think my old lady is cheating on me with my chem dealer." He started to go on until I raised the spindly appendages of my metal hand to stop him.

"Listen, I'm working a case right now, but you come to my office in Diamond City later and we'll get you squared away. Alright, Mack?" his face was as blank as a radstag lost in a spotlight. You see that look a lot in this line of work. I didn't expect him to make a trip to Diamond City and that didn't bother me. Maybe it was the morals of old Nick ingrained in my programing, but I usually avoided cases of philandering spouses.

The Third Rail's VIP room, where they kept all the nice furniture and expensive booze. Big Vic Gambino was at a table with a few of his 'trusted associates' playing a game of cards. That was until my presence was known by the hairy gorilla himself.

"Nick Valentine, sorry. Detective Nick Valentine," Vic's Italian accent was patronizing me, "What do you want in here?"

"Came here looking for some real men, but I guess you'll have to do." That got a few sneers from the goons, but Vic cracked a small grin,

"You sure do like stirring that pot, Detective." Then the smile faded completely, "You best be careful not to stir too… vigorously. Might spill some on that sack of burlap you call a trench coat." Vague threats by perps in cheap suits, another perk of this job. I took a seat in one of the free chairs while his men had a little chuckle, "Now what does the private dick want here really?" he asked again. I figured it was time to get to the point before my welcome was worn out.

"I was hoping for a private audience." Making sure I gave a side eye to the other card players. Big Vic gave that look to his capos. They left the table, but not without their share of dirty looks for me. Once they filed out into the bar, Vic set a heavy gaze on me, "What happened to Charlie Kingsman?" that name caused the mob boss to lean back in his chair with a furrowed brow forming on that fat forehead.

"Charlie disappeared a few months back, bless his soul. He was a good soldier. What's he to you, detective?"

"My client seems to think you had a hand in his death." Vic raised a bushy quizzical eyebrow, not the reaction I was expecting.

"You gotta listen better detective. I said he disappeared, not died." Not the answer I was hoping for. I leaned forward, my arms resting on the warped wooden table.

"Then who put that bullet in his chest south of the gate here?" The godfather of Goodneighbor took a moment to process the grilling question. As he did, some music began to pick up in the bar accompanied by a honeyed voice I wasn't familiar with, but it caught my immediate attention.

"Like that, detective? New singer, just rolled into town. Calls herself 'Magnolia'. She's a real fine number."

"Focus, Vic. You were telling me who you had off Charlie, then you can go back to swooning over your new girl." He was starting to get irritated, could feel my welcome wearing thin.

"I didn't have no one off Charlie. Swear that on my mother's grave. He did right by me. Why don't you go bug Marowski and his boys? Think Charlie's sister was going with one of his goombas." Had the mechanisms in my face not been rusty, Vic would've read the confused expression on my face, benefit of being a 'marvelous' mechanical man.

"Where can I find Marowksi? Surely you keep tabs on him."

"He's got a little party going on over at the Hotel Rexford." Vic said, eager to see me leave.

"Letting your competition muscle in on your turf, Gambino? You're getting sloppy." The big monkey had been in charge of the sole criminal enterprise in Goodneighbor for years. He laughed when I referred to Marowski as 'competition'.

"Ha, that Irish punk. He likes to think he's a big bad thug, but he's nothing better than a chem dealer playing mobster. You know who the real pain in my ass is?" asking as if I cared about his problems, "some dope fiend Ghoul running around in a colonial coat preaching 'liberty' to the drunks and bums."

"Better watch out. Drunks and bums are what make up the lifeblood of this town." I imparted some wisdom to the Italian.

"And as long as I keep them flowing in booze they stay happy. Once you leave, I'll be in a much better disposition too." That was the closest I was getting to a 'good-bye' from Big Vic, what a shame. I pulled myself up from the table and left the VIP room with no incident.


	3. The Big Sleep

From the puddle strewn street I could see the top floor of the Hotel Rexford. Party lights flashed through those dingy windows and music was leaking about the cracks in the aged mortar. Marowski was on the top floor, just my educated guess. Clair Hutchins was behind the desk in the lobby. You could still hear the music on the bottom floor, but none of these people seemed to enjoy that fact. They were tired and beaten, the wasteland does that to all of us in due time.

"If you're here for a room, we're booked up." Clair relayed the information with little enthusiasm.

"Don't worry, Clair. I'm just here to visit a friend."

"Uhhh. Don't go breaking anything or you'll be paying for it." I nodded my hat to give her my assurance. Heading up the stairs, the music became more defined. It reminded me of another time…

"Hurry up Nick. We're going to be late."

"Ah, come on Jennifer. Can't we just call it a night?" I implored her as I tugged at the tuxedo collar taught around my neck. We had just left the Policeman's Ball and Jennifer insisted on going to one of the after parties. I never could say 'no' to that face. Atop the third floor, a live band was swooning slow jazz while couples danced across the floor. The captains were huddled around a table sharing shots and stories. "Let's not stay too late. Alright, dear?"

"No one likes a stick in the mud. It'll be fun. Come on, let's dance some more." She led me into the room. I stepped passed the doorway into the party.

"Hey, hey. Can I help you?" I didn't see where the question came from. "You hear me?" It took me a moment to realize that voice was coming from the present. Damn those memories. Gone were Jennifer and the dancers. In their place was a dank room full of addicts shooting up, drunks passed out in the corner, & some tall tough giving me the third degree. "Not going to ask you again. What are you doing here?"

"Heard there was a good time to be had here." I pulled a cigarette from inside my coat.

"Not by you, synth." While this thug insulted me I dug around for that stubborn lighter, "This is for friends of the Family. And you're not that."

"I appreciate the compliment." My sarcastic reply was punctuated by the sparks of flint from my lighter, "I've got business for Marowski. Where is the kingpin?"

"You're speaking to him, Mr.?" This guy thought he was something clever, but you'd have to get up earlier than that to pull a fast one past Nick Valentine.

"No offense, Mack, but you don't strike me as a crime boss." He squinted his eyes in anger as I took a puff on my smoke, "Actually, you strike me as a 2nd banana. So, where's your monkey?" he started to crack his knuckles as a show of force when a man from the bar came up to us.

"Ay. What the Hell are you?" apparently the exposed gears in my neck seemed to startle this man. Turning to ignore the 1st man, I addressed his question.

"Synth detective, Nick Valentine." I took in the man's demeanor, "And you must be Marowski, the new guy in town." He crossed his arms defensively, meaning I guessed right.

"I may be new to town, but I've got the most profitable chem racket in the Commonwealth. Soon I'll be running Goodneighbor." He did like talking about himself.

"I think the old guard may disagree with that statement." Marowski sounded offended when I brought that up,

"Big Vic may act strong in his castle, but he knows what's coming. Time for the new blood to come in," he turned to stare out the windows, covered in rain, "Soon I'll be sitting down there in the Third Rail's VIP room like that fat oaf." I have a feeling he could've continued on until he realized who he was talking to, "But these things are of no interest to you. Right, detective?" he turned back to me with determination across his square mug, "What do you need here detective? I can feel you bringing down the mood already." Before I dropped my big question I ponied up to the bar and grabbed a tumbler of bourbon. Marowski followed suit with a glass of vodka.

"Working a case. Looking for someone you may be familiar with."

"And what makes you think I'll be cooperative?" hate to admit it, but it was a legit question.

"Cause you're such a charming personality." He took a sip of vodka, showing no response on his stone cold face, "I'm looking for the killer of Charlie Kingsman." That got a reaction in the form of a glass landing heavy on the wooden bar. The once calm, assured Marowski was now visibly angry. He leaned in close to me, close enough I could smell that potato juice on his breath.

"Where the Hell do you get off coming in here, aggravating my friends, and asking me about that rat?" One think old Nick was good at was keeping his cool in these types of situations.

"So, you're familiar with Charlie?"

"Yeah, yeah. I know him." He downed the vodka glass quickly before continuing, "He was a real ass, Vic's favorite attack dog to come snuff out my men when he thought I was getting 'too carried away'." Anger was seething out with each of those words. I tapped my cigarette on an ashtray before taking a small sip of bourbon,

"Sounds like quite a history, and a motive to put a bullet in him."

"Charlie killed Vito Tortelini. He was my right hand before Stan, whom you've met already. He was damned good at his job and loyal." He poured more vodka into his glass.

"Forgive me if I don't share your sympathy over a dead mobster. Sure you've had your share of hits ordered." Marowski took another hit of that clear liquor,

"Sure I have, but you know what the worst part was?" I waved my glass, motioning for an answer, "Vito wasn't just my friend, he was in love with Charlie's sister. I forget the dame's name, but that man iced his own sister's boyfriend." That was a heck of a bomb Marowski dropped. It made me wonder why Charlotte had neglected to mention what seemed like pertinent information.

"Does that mean you had a hand in Charlie's death?" I asked him, not expecting a truthful answer.

"From what I heard that cold hearted bastard disappeared. Suppose the Commonwealth got to him before I had my chance. What a shame." And an insincere answer I got. I could almost imagine the snake tongue hissing out between his lips. The mobster finished off his second glass of vodka and rose from the barstool, "Now, detective. Get the Hell out of my hotel." Now I could imagine the fangs to go with it. After taking a healthy swig from my tumbler and snuffing out the bud of a stunted cigarette Stan showed me to the stairs.

"Real pleasant fellow you work for there." Apparently Stan didn't share in my sense of humor, embraced by the fact he tossed me down the top flight of stairs. Luckily, it was a short tumble to the first landing. It took a moment laying on the cold ground to collect myself. Felt like a few gears and servos got knocked out of place, but nothing to take this old android out of service yet. While I laid there I decided what to do next, try to fill in the gaps about the Kingsman family that Charlotte left out. Unfortunately I've milked Goodneighbor for all the information it was worth. It was time to get back to Diamond City and see a reliable informant of mine. I took a look at my watch, half past 5, means she's probably already been thrown into Diamond City Security for the day.


	4. Stop the Presses

This rain was getting old. After the long walk back to Diamond City my coat was sopping wet, a steady stream of water pouring off my the brim of my hat. There were a few people huddled under the awnings of Power Noodles in the otherwise deserted streets. "Have anything good to eat today?"

"Nan-ni shimasho-ka?" came the standard reply. Diamond City Security was down a few back streets that were more rivers than road by now. As I passed through the door, the dull clouds were replaced by harsh utility lighting.

"Is she in her office?" Danny Sullivan behind the desk heard my question and gave a small grin.

"Yeah," his voice was thick with sarcasm, "I think she's in a meeting." I thanked him for the info and made my way back to the cells. Knew I found the right cell when I saw a young lady pouting in the corner of the cell. She looked up at the sound of my footsteps.

"Nick. You should've told me you were coming over. I've had no time to tidy up for visitors."

"Hey Piper. Glad to see you're doing well for yourself." She stood up and approached the bars, her red leather coat flowing off her shoulders. "What did you accuse the mayor of this time?"

"Nothing this time, just accused of causing a panic after my story about what Polly was really selling as Brahmin meat." She took the iron bars in her hands, "You here to bail me out… again?"

"Of course, kid, but first I need to know if you can help me." I demanded of her as I leaned against a nearby wall. She mimicked my action in her cell.

"I suppose I owe you that much. What do you need? Wondering if androids really dream of electric sheep?" I smiled at her attempted humor.

"No. There isn't enough time for that. Need some information about some folks in a case I'm working."

"Sure," she sat down on the measly bed of the 'Piper Suite', "I'll see if I know anything about them."

"Charlie & Charlotte Kingsman." With the names in her mind she leaned back in the cot, rubbing her thin chin in contemplation.

"Those names do sound familiar. I remember them from one of my reports. Think it was one about Charlie being shot." She pulled the well-worn newsboy cap off her neat, black hair, running her fingers through the silky mop, "A murder usually isn't something I cover. There's just too many of them, but this one was different. No one knows who pulled the trigger? There were obvious mob ties, but those old goats don't know what to do with a pushy woman. I got nothing out of them." I smiled at her frustration.

"Don't feel too bad. Me and Big Vic have a shaky understanding and I couldn't get anything out of him besides, 'He disappeared'." Something I said caused Piper to shoot up from her cot with an intensely ecstatic look on her face,

"See! That's just the thing. Not only does no one know who killed him, some people say he didn't actually die from that shot to the chest. That he got up and walked away," she was in her reporter mode till she finally settled down to a level tone, "and some even think he's a vengeful spirit now stalking the wasteland. Ooooo." She raised her hands, imitating a spooky ghost, "It was all in Publick Occurrences. Don't you read it?" her cocked eyebrow caused me to rub the back of my neck,

"Well, I mean to, but…" she shook her head with a smirk on her lips.

"You run an advertisement in it & you don't even read it."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I promise, once I finish wrapping up this case I'll read them all." We both knew it wasn't a real promise I planned to keep. "If this Charlie fellow is still alive, where would I be most likely to find him?" She sat back down onto the bed.

"Well, he fell off the grid. So he's either hiding in some deep, remote hole or some mobsters threw him in one." I started piecing some possible hiding spots together that would afford Charlie somewhere Marowski's boys wouldn't follow. Leaning up from my resting place, I tipped my slightly drier fedora to the truth seeker,

"Thanks for the help, kid." My wet footsteps echoed a squishy thump across the concrete as I made my way to Danny's desk, "Here." I tossed whatever caps I had in one of my pockets onto the wooden flattop, "Go ahead and let our intrepid reporter out for the day." Danny shuffled them all into a desk drawer,

"Sure thing, Nick. We'll just have to drag her back in tomorrow for something else." The metal door creaked open as I turned back to face Danny, the pouring rain adding background noise,

"I know." Once again, that infernal rain was drenching every inch of my person. It wasn't good for all these exposed moving parts in my neck, but so was the life of a private eye. Next place I'd get my shoes muddy, Fiddler's Green. It was an old pre-War trailer park outside of Fort Hagen that was just out of the way & unsuspecting enough to harbor a man on the run. With a freshly lit cigarette, I started the fun march west. Somedays I think maybe it's time for me to retire, just do some work around town and take it easy. Until that day, I'd be trying to solve everyone's problems.

After 3 cigarettes later, and a couple hours of talking to myself, I was just passing Oberland Station. The rain went from a steady pour to a thunderstorm, with cracks of lightning off in the distance. They always made me a little nervous, seeing as I'm a walking lightning rod. While I was preoccupied with the electric bolts cracking the ground I didn't notice the butt of a Tommy gun trying to crack my skull. If the cigarette stuck in the mud and the fact I was flat on my face was any indication, the submachine gun succeeded.


	5. A Cold Winter

"Hey, Valentine." A cold splash of water drenched my face, "Get up, ya mangy dog." The fuzziness faded from my vision to reveal the bright sunlight washing across a field of open weeds. It was a stunning view, save for a few black marks that were two tough's firm hands keeping my knees in the dirt. "Welcome back to the world of the living." Another man was in front of me, the sun making his face a shadow. He threw a folder on the ground in front of me. "You are a very devoted to your work. I respect a man who knows the value of hard work." I looked up at him, the sun searing into my eyes,

"Means a lot coming from a man who never saw a hard day's work." The shadowy figure threw a knee into my gut, didn't appreciate my honesty. The wind flew out of my lungs as I hunched over. The two thugs pulled me back up to my knees.

"Sarcasm, however, is not very fitting on you, detective." He threw a cigar down on the folder, the embers burning holes into the manila paper, "I can't allow you to have this information. I've got too much work to do to let some cop throw me in the clink." The case work went up in flames.

"Don't worry, Winters. There's still plenty of evidence I can pin to you." I threatened the Boston kingpin.

"Seems you're also devoted to a nice girl. What's her name, Jennifer? Shame something were to happen to her." That was a low-down, dirty move, even for a crime boss. I tried to struggle to my feet, but Winters' two henchmen shoved me back on to the ground. "I suggest you drop your investigation, or next time you find yourself in this field I will take you out of the world of the living," he started to pace away from me, "After I have your girl dealt with." He waved a finger in the air, "Leave him boys, I've got a treatment to go to." They forced me to the ground, digging my head in the dry earth.

"I'll see your end, Eddie. Count on that." I barely huffed it out in exhaustion. Another blow came in and suddenly a new voice was shouting at me.

"Why the Hell you calling me Eddie?" it was a scratchier voice, barely audible over the crackling thunderstorm. The man producing it was a squat man in a pair of suspenders. The tails of my trench coat were soaked in mud. The short man looked at the two Triggermen hovering over me, "Hey, I think this synth has snapped, see. Must be all this rain frying his circuits?" he chuckled a squawky laugh and the two men replied with big, dumb laughs. "Marowski don't like you snooping around for that square Charlie. He prefers his business stay… private, see." Through the rumble of thunder I heard the click of a Tommy gun chambering a bullet. "So, I'm going to dump your robotic ass in the same ditch I left Charlie in, see." The two thugs prodded guns in my back, urging me to march. I picked myself off the muddy ground and followed the little man unwillingly. Found myself at a steep cliff, an unhealthy green glow resting at its bottom seemed to reflect all the mistakes I've made in my life. "Careful boys. Have to pop some RadAway after this job." The fat man peered over the edge. "Alright, throw him down." That boot to the back hurt more than I figured it should. Its pain almost dwarfed the scratches I got from the tumble down, dumb guys always hit the hardest. I laid down there in the irradiated pool, my face barely above the water as I rolled over to see Marowski's three Triggerman sighting me in. There was no way I could take all three of them out with my snub nose from this range. The Commonwealth provided worst ways to go, but dying in an irradiated, water-filled ditch wasn't what I had imagined. Don't ask me how, but the storm seemed to hum a musical tune through the lightning as a fourth man appeared on the cliff from the rainy mist. He pulled a revolver from his yellowed trench coat and with only three shots took down all three goons before they could react. As their lifeless bodies fell down the cliff side, I quickly returned my gaze to the top of the rocky monolith only to see this mysterious stranger had seemed to disappear as quickly as he appeared. Laying at the bottom of the cliff, I wanted to follow him, but that fall sapped my energy. My hat was floating in a puddle, water was leaking into my open neck cavity. Wasn't long until the Commonwealth faded out of focus.


	6. The Parlor Scene

Burning tires filled the air with blackened smoke and a sickly industrial smell that pulled me out of my unconsciousness. Again I found myself restrained, not by two suits, but by a heavy chain latched to the hollow shell of an old Corvega. I pulled myself up from the ground and rested on the frame where the hood used to be. Of course, the rain was still falling for what felt like the 101st straight hour. At least, it was back to just an annoying drizzle from shady overcast. With the aid of my bare robotic finger, I tried to fiddle with the lock to little avail. The surrounding area was empty, no one within sight range. Which made me wonder, who so politely decided to tie me up here? I could debate that question later, first I had to get free of this nuclear deathtrap. Luckily, my .44 was still inside my coat pocket. I rested my hands on the grip and sighted in what looked like the weakest link in the metal chain. The bullet flew out true, but it only caused the chain to jump up and dance in the air before settling back into the soft earth.

"Time to rethink my strategy here." The chain was wrapped around one of the skinnier beams of the car. I took a hold of it, hoping the years of rust would make it an easy break. Apparently that stray gunshot attracted some unwanted attention. As I was leveraging against the frame, a group of people came over a small hill. I decided it was in my best interest to stop wrestling with the car, didn't want to scare off my new friends. Of the five people, four of them were in tattered rags and looked like the poster children for malnourishment. The fifth man, the one approaching me as the others looked on, was clad in a heavy suit of old power armor, looked like the T-45 variant. As he, I assumed it was a man, closed in I saw that the faded gunmetal grey armor was full of dings and dents, pits and scratches, cracks and scars. Then, when he was mere feet I could hear the groans of the suit's support systems and the screeching of unoiled hinges. A static, mechanized man's voice came from the helmet,

"What were you doing out here?" the tone was terse, yet not completely unfriendly.

"Had a disagreement with some friends. I'd thank you, but I seem to be tied up at the moment." The suit of armor stood there, silent. Another person who didn't appreciate my refined sense of humor.

"Who sent you out here?" the tone hadn't changed since the first question.

"Can't a guy just take a stroll to clear his head?" a half smile spread across my synthetic skin, "Better question, who are you & your little friends on the cliff supposed to be?" the massive suit heaved as he crossed his arms in front of him.

"Were you sent by the Marowskis, or are you working for Big Vic?" the tense tone now started to stray into unfriendliness. The fact that this power armored punk knew about the Goodneighbor crime families was enough to raise my eyebrow at. Most wastelanders this far due west weren't usually current in the politics of that scum den.

"Are you the infamous Charlie Kingsman?" the question was met with silence. Then, with the slight tilt of his helmet down towards his chest, I got my answer. I had him on the defense now, "You are a hard man to find, Mr. Kingsman." I leaned against the car frame, "Especially since you're supposed to be dead. Why don't you get out of that tuna can and look me in the eye?" he uncrossed his arms and his shoulders sagged in despair,

"Were I able to, I'd oblige your request. Unfortunately, this suit is what keeps me from being the dead man you believed I was." His distorted voice now became somber in tone.

"Your sister will be glad to know you're alive. So, how did you end up in this pickle?" He stood up straighter at the mention of his sister.

"Charlotte? Did she send you to finish me off?"

"Why such the hostility? She cared enough to send a private eye to find your killer." He seemed to shake his head in disbelief,

"I don't know what lies she told you, but she's behind the reason I was almost killed." It was my turn to shake my head,

"Now, why would she send me across the Commonwealth to bring your killer in?"

"Charlotte is more than she seems. Her man, Vito, most people think I was his killer. Makes sense seeing as I worked for Big Vic, and Vito was Marowski's boy." He huffed an electronic sigh, "It was my sister who fired the shot that killed him. She had been pressuring Vito to take the enterprise from Marowski, but he was loyal to a fault. He wouldn't betray his boss and that was no good for my sister." Ah, the power hungry temptress; subtle, but one of the deadliest threats in the Commonwealth, "I got pegged for the murder, thanks to her, and was on Marowski's radar." This family was a walking soap opera. "But I knew the truth, and that didn't set well with Charlotte." He took a seat on a large boulder, "Betrayed her own brother to keep that secret."

"I've heard of some despicable things in my long career, but nothing is as cruel as a good family betrayal. Doesn't answer why she'd want me to find your killer?"

"I'll tell you who my 'killers' were. Some of Marowski's goons, one of them was a little short, fat man. Put a bullet in me here." A half destroyed finger clanked against a spot on his chest plate, "Then they threw me in a pit of radiation, for good measure." He stood back up, "I'd have died from the poisoning if it weren't for those nuts up on the hill. Children of Atom, found me and threw me in the suit as I was inches from death. Threw me in this suit and worship me as some kinda chosen one. They are complete nut jobs, but without the suit's rad scrubbers I'd be dead. My body's too weak from the radiation to survive outside this power armor." Taking my fedora off, I rubbed my hand against the bald skin. The chain wrapped around it clinking on the frame as it was lifted up.

"Sounds like a Hell of a sob story, Mack." He seemed to ignore my consoling.

"As to why my sister hired you. I suppose she expected you to pin my 'death' on some mafia goon and leave it at that. I wouldn't put it past Charlotte to have been the one to tell Marowski that I killed her lover. If Big Vic found out what she did… Well, he doesn't like it when the family acts without his blessing." And there it was, all the pieces starting to fall into their assigned places.

"So, she hires a detective to seem sympathetic. I'm supposed to pin it on a stooge and Gambino doesn't look into any further. Unfortunate for her she hired the best detective in the Commonwealth." I moved my hand to rub my forehead, "Talk about your convoluted plans. But, ah," I lifted up the chain around my arm, "How about untying me from this old jalopy?" Thankfully he took the chain in his mechanical fist and shattered the chain, freeing me, "Thanks. So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't think it is wise of me to go back to Goodneighbor, and those kooks from Atom won't let me just leave. Hell, I think they're building a shrine to me."

"Long as they don't start sacrificing people in your honor." That got a laugh through his helmet's busted speaker. He started to walk away towards the religious zealots, raining trickling off his armor,

"Do me one thing, private eye. Would you set things right with Vic? My sister may have no respect for family, but I do." I answered his question and posed one more of my own.

"Yeah, I can do that. What about your sister?" He kept walking away, his boots making heavy prints in the wet earth. There was no verbal response. Charlie just shook his head. With the rain misting across the field, I started east in the opposite direction. I honestly hoped I didn't run back into that femme fatale.


	7. Play It Again, Sam

I had had my fill of this case. Every job I took had some form of twists and turns, but usually nothing quite this extreme. A sister mad on power, a world weary brother presumed dead, and all of it wrapped up in a nice mafia soaked cannoli. Huh, never a boring day in the life of a synth detective. Never seemed to be a dry day either. The rain was still falling as I returned to the seedy hovel of Goodneighbor. Neon store lights glowed illustrious colors in the damp night. Walking down the stairs of the Third Rail station, I found a dry spot, though the bar was wet with beer. At a corner booth sat Big Vic with one of his capos. The big gorilla learned the importance of having a presence among the common drifters every now & then.

"Got a light?" I asked with a cigarette in my mouth. Gambino looked up at me with a less than pleased expression,

"What do you want, clockwork dick? Didn't I tell you last time we met that when I see your visage I get depressed?" I answered him while chewing on a still unlit smoke,

"Your ugly mug doesn't do much for my disposition either. I got some news for you, then you can enjoy your evening." He leaned back in his seat, could almost see his eyes debating how much concrete it might take to sink me to the bottom of the river.

"Give the man a light." His hairy heavy hand smacked upside the head of his capo. The goon begrudgingly pulled out a Zippo and set my cigarette ablaze. After taking a nice and long puff, I delivered Charlie's message.

"Your boy, Charlie Kingsman. Turns out he's still alive. And wants you to know something about what went down with Vito Tortelini…" Before I could relay the story a new chess piece entered the board.

"Hello, Vic. Nick, did you found out who killed my brother?"

"Ah, Charlotte, such a lovely sight and perfect timing. Turns out this private eye claims to know about your brother. Even claims he's still alive." The sultry siren took a seat in the booth next to Gambino with an uncomfortable quiet laugh. "Go on Valentine, tell us this wild story." The big lug patronized me.

"Charlie says he didn't kill Vito. Claims it was actually Miss Charlotte who snuffed out her lover's flame. I'm inclined to believe him." The accusation caused Charlotte to occupy her attention digging a cigarette and lighter out of her handbag. Big Vic, however, leaned back farther into the tattered pleather of the booth and laid his hands on his massive gut.

"You make a serious claim, Vito's death was not by my blessing. How do I know that's the truth? You could just make up any story like that. Or worse," he went on with an almost unserious tone, "maybe Marowski paid you off to stir up trouble? He's a scrappy one."

"Yeah, Marowski always hated my brother." Charlotte had regained her composure with a long pull on her slim smoke, "And why would I want to kill my man. He has always treated me so well." She played innocent, her smooth voice selling the point.

"That's not how Charlie put it. Says you were pressuring Vito to knock off Marowski, but Vito didn't share your vision. So you took him out & blamed Charile." I stubbed out my cigarette on the ashtray to accentuate the point.

"Still not convinced." Vic hadn't changed his demeanor.

"You know I'm not on any crime family's take. What do I have to gain from accusing Charlotte? It's the truth Vic." The old mob boss looked me up and down. Those gears in his head were turning, not literally, though my head had cranking gears.

"Don't tell me you believe him? He's trying to make you paranoid." I gave the girl credit she kept her tone smooth as butter as she deflected the accusation. Big Vic turned in his seat to face the voluptuous vixen.

"Or maybe he's opening my eyes to the threat at home?" The mafia boss was starting to sound agitated, luckily it wasn't aimed at me. Charlotte brushed her golden hair from her eyes as her cigarette smoldered down.

"I wouldn't be capable selling out my own brother." She scooted in closer to Big Vic, "I'm loyal to family." She ran a dainty finger under the big moose's second chin. Gambino finally wised up as he pushed her hand away with a huff of air flowing through those bullish nostrils.

"She had me fooled too, Vic. That doesn't happen often. Didn't figure it out till I was face to face with her sibling." He turned back to face me, his face a little red. His voice was very low,

"Thank you for the information, gumshoe. You no longer need an interest in this matter. Enjoy a round on me." He really was terrible at just saying 'good bye'.

Time to pony up to the bar. I knew there was nothing left to this case. As a sat there sipping on the cheap beer Whitechapel Charlie handed me, I thought about Charlotte. I had clients try to pull the wool over my eyes before, but I didn't get my reputation by not figuring it out pretty quick. That dame was a different story. She played me like a well-tuned fiddle. If I'm being honest with myself, she reminded me of Jennifer, more in appearance than actions. Still, I am plague with a love for a girl I never knew, who almost married a cop 200 years ago. A cop I'm pretending to be. I took another drink of the Third Rail swill and shot a sideways glance to Big Vic's table. The big gorilla was sharing some words with the temptress. I couldn't hear them over the live music, but they seemed like harsh words. Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walked into the wrong one tonight.


End file.
